ATTEMPTS TO ARREST IT.
_The Permissive Liquors Bill_—_Its Advocates and their Arguments_—_The
Drunkenness of the Nation_—_Temperance Facts and Anecdotes_—_Why the
Advocates of Total Abstinence do not make more headway_—_Moderate
Drinking_—_Hard Drinking_—_The Mistake about childish Petitioners_.
THERE has recently appeared on the temperance stage a set of well-meaning
gentlemen, who, could they have their way, though they would sweep every
public-house and beershop from the face of the land, are yet good-natured
enough to meet objectors to their extreme views a “third” if not
“half-way.” Sir Wilfred Lawson is the acknowledged head and champion of
the party, and its news on the all-important subject are summed up in a
Permissive Prohibitory Liquor Bill. It may be mentioned that the said
Bill was rejected in the House of Commons by a very large majority, and
is therefore, for the present, shelved. It stands, however, as an
expression of opinion on the part of eighty-seven members of parliament,
backed by 3,337 petitions, more or less numerously signed, from various
parts of the kingdom, as to what should be done to check the advancing
curse of drunkenness, and, as such, its merits may be here discussed.
The Permissive Prohibitory Liquors Bill, as Sir Wilfred Lawson describes
it, provides that no public-houses shall be permitted in any district,
provided that two-thirds of its population agree that they should be
dispensed with. If there are thirty thousand inhabitants of a parish,
and twenty thousand of them should be of opinion that public-houses are a
nuisance that should be abolished, the remaining ten thousand may
grumble, but they must submit, and either go athirst or betake themselves
to an adjoining and more generous parish.
Sir W. Lawson, in moving the second reading of his Bill, said “that no
statistics were needed to convince the House of Commons of the amount of
drunkenness, and consequent poverty and crime, existing in this country;
and even if here and there drunkenness might be diminishing, that did not
affect his argument, which rested upon the fact that drunkenness in
itself was a fertile and admitted source of evil. The Bill was called a
‘Permissive Bill;’ but had the rules of the House permitted, it might
with truth be called a Bill for the Repression of Pauperism and of Crime.
The measure was no doubt unpopular in the House, but it was a consolation
to him that, although honourable members differed in opinion as to the
efficacy of the remedy proposed, they all sympathised with the object its
promoters had in view. The trouble to which he feared honourable members
had been put during the last few days in presenting petitions and
answering letters showed the depth and intensity of the interest taken in
the question out of doors. No less than 3,337 petitions had been
presented in favour of the Bill. It would be remembered that in the
parliament before last a bill similar in its character had been defeated
by an overwhelming majority, all the prominent speakers in opposition to
it at that time declaring that they based their hopes as to the
diminution of drunkenness upon the spread of education. He agreed in
that opinion, but the education, to be successful, must be of the right
sort; and while an army of schoolmasters and clergyman were engaged in
teaching the people what was good, their efforts, he feared, were greatly
counteracted by that other army of 150,000 publicans and beersellers
encouraging the people to drinking habits. All these dealers in drink
had been licensed and commissioned by the Government, and were paid by
results; they had, consequently, a direct pecuniary interest in promoting
the consumption of as large an amount of drink as possible. Naturally,
if a man entered into a trade, he wished to do as large a trade as
possible; and he had always felt that the advocates of temperance did
more harm than good in using hard language against the beersellers, when
it was the law which enabled them to engage in the trade, which was
primarily responsible for the result.”
The honourable member explained that the Bill did not in any way
interfere with or touch the licensing system as at present existing;
where it was the wish of the inhabitants that licenses should be granted,
licenses would continue to be granted as at present. But what the
measure sought to do was, to empower the inhabitants of a neighbourhood,
or the great majority of them, to vote within that neighbourhood the
granting of any licenses at all—to crystallise public opinion, as it
were, into law. The first objection that had been taken to the measure
was, that it would be impossible to carry out prohibition in England; but
why should that be impossible in this country which had been successfully
carried out in America, in Canada, and in Nova Scotia? All he had to say
upon the revenue question was, that no amount of revenue to be derived
from the sale of intoxicating drinks should be allowed for a moment to
weigh against the general welfare of the people; and that, if the present
Bill were passed, such a mass of wealth would accumulate in the pockets
of the people, that the Chancellor of the Exchequer would meet with no
difficulty in obtaining ample funds for carrying on the government of the
country. It was further objected that great inconvenience would be
inflicted upon the minority by the operation of the Bill; but there,
again, the balance of advantage and disadvantage must be looked at, and
the convenience of the few should not be allowed to counterbalance the
benefit that would be conferred upon the great mass of the people. Then
it was said that every year there would be a great fight upon the
question; but was not an annual moral contest better than nightly
physical conflicts at the doors of the public-houses? The movement in
favour of prohibiting the sale of liquor had proceeded from the poor, and
it had been supported by what he might call the aristocracy of the
working-classes. He asked the House whether it would not be wise, when
the future of this country must be in the hands of the working-classes,
to pay some attention to their demand for a straightforward measure of
this sort, which was intended to put an end to an acknowledged evil of
great magnitude.
“What,” says the _Times_, when commenting on Sir Wilfred Lawson’s
argument, “would it matter to Sir Wilfred Lawson, or to any of the
gentlemen who figure on the temperance platform, if all the public-houses
of their districts were closed to-morrow? Their own personal comfort
would be in no way affected; not one of them probably enters a
public-house, except at canvassing times, from one year’s end to another.
But it would matter a great deal to those humbler and poorer classes of
the population who make daily use of the public-house. If it were
closed, their comfort would be most materially affected. A large
proportion of them use strong liquor without abusing it, and have
therefore as much right to it, both legal and moral, as they have to
their meat or clothes. Many of them could not get through the work by
which they gain their own and their children’s bread without it; and
their only means of procuring it is provided by the present public-house
system. They have not usually capital enough to lay in for themselves a
stock of liquor; and even if they had, this plan would be not only
wasteful and inconvenient, but would tempt them to commit the very crime
which it was employed to avoid. They find it both cheaper and more
comfortable to get their liquor in small quantities as they want it, and
they can only do this at a public-house. Besides, it should not be
forgotten—though well-to-do reformers are very apt, from their
inexperience, to forget it—that to many of these poor people living in
overcrowded, ill-ventilated, ill-lighted rooms, the public-house is the
only place in which they can enjoy a quiet evening in pleasant, and
perhaps instructive, intercourse with their neighbours after a hard day’s
work. To drive them from this genial place of resort would be in some
cases almost as great a hardship as it would be to the rich man to turn
him out of both private house and club. We shall perhaps be told that
all this may be true, but that the question reduces itself to a choice of
evils, and that, on the whole, much more misery results to the poorer
classes from the use of the public-house than would result if they were
deprived of it. But, even if we grant this for the sake of argument, it
seems to us strangely unjust to debar one man forcibly from a privilege
at once pleasant and profitable to him, simply because another abuses it.
The injustice, too, is greatly heightened by the fact that those who take
the most prominent and influential part in debarring him feel nothing of
the suffering they inflict.”
Following Sir Wilfred Lawson in the House of Commons came Mr. Besley, who
declared that something like one hundred millions sterling was annually
expended in this country in intoxicating drinks; and in our prisons, our
lunatic asylums, and our workhouses, large numbers of the victims of
intemperate indulgence in those drinks were always to be found. Mr.
Besley believed that the present mode of restricting the sale of liquors
was anything but a satisfactory one. In this respect the people would be
the best judges of their own wants—of what their own families and their
own neighbourhoods required; and he believed that if the decision was
placed in their hands, as it would be by this Bill, the evils of
intoxication would be very much mitigated. He did not entertain the hope
that we should ever make people sober by Act of Parliament, but he did
believe that it was in the power of the Legislature to diminish the evil
to a very great extent. Supposing the expenditure on intoxicating drinks
were reduced one-half, how usefully might not the fifty millions thus
saved be employed in the interests of the poor themselves! He believed
that dwellings for the poor would be among the first works undertaken
with that money. For fifty millions they might erect 250,000 dwellings,
costing 200_l._ each, and this was an expenditure which would cause an
increased demand for labour in a variety of trades.
I cannot do better than wind up these brief extracts by reproducing the
loudly-applauded objections of the Home Secretary, Mr. Bruce, to the
Permissive Prohibitory Liquor Bill.
“The most complete remedy for drunkenness was to be found in the
cultivation among the people of a better appreciation of their own
interests, rather than in legislation. This had undoubtedly been the
cause of the almost complete disappearance of drunkenness among the
upper classes, coupled with an increased desire for and consequent
supply of intellectual amusement among them. But, although education
in its largest sense was the true remedy for drunkenness, there was
no reason against the introduction of repressive or preventive
measures in behalf of those in our manufacturing districts,
especially that large class irregularly employed and often
oscillating between starvation and occasional well-doing, to whom
drunkenness was a refuge from despair. The question was, in whom
should the power of restriction be reposed? Some thought in the
resident ratepayers, others in the magistrates, and others in a body
elected for the purpose. He could not say which proposal should be
adopted, but confessed that there was some reason in the demand, that
the number of public-houses should be uniformly regulated according
to the population. He had been asked whether he would undertake to
deal with the matter. To deal with the matter in the manner proposed
by the honourable baronet would at once deprive some portion of the
people of means of enjoyment, and the owners of public-houses of
their property. That would be a proceeding unnecessary and unjust,
because, although the admitted evils of drunkenness were very
grievous, there was no doubt that public-houses, especially when well
managed, really did furnish to a large portion of the people a means
of social comfort and enjoyment. His objection to the Bill was, that
it would not only cause a great deal of disturbance in many parts of
the country, but would almost inevitably cause riot. Certainly the
rigorous treatment proposed by the Bill was unsuited to people whose
only pleasures were sensuous. The honourable member proposed that a
majority of two-thirds of the ratepayers of a borough should be able
to put the Bill in operation; but in this proposal he ignored a large
proportion of those most interested. Two-thirds of the ratepayers
left much more than one-third of the population on the other side,
and the more important portion of the population as regards this
matter, because it was made up in a great measure by those who lived
in all the discomfort of lodgings. Again, it was suggested that the
settlement of the question might in each case be left to a majority
of the population; but here, again, it might be said that the
question would probably be decided by a majority of persons least
interested in the question—interested, that was, only as regards
peace and order, and careless how far the humbler classes of society
were deprived of their pleasure. What the Legislature had to do was,
not to deprive the people of means of innocent enjoyment, but to
prevent that means being used to foster crime and gross
self-indulgence.”
However much one might feel disposed, in the main, to agree with Sir
Wilfred Lawson and his colleagues, it is not easy to grant him the
position he assumes at the commencement of his argument, that “statistics
are unnecessary.” It is a singular fact, and one that everyone taking an
interest in the great and important question of the drunkenness of the
nation must have noticed, that amongst the advocates of total-abstinence
principles “statistics” invariably are regarded as “unnecessary.” This
undoubtedly is a grave mistake, and one more likely than any other to
cast a deeper shade of distrust over the minds of doubters. It would
seem either that the great evil in question is so difficult of access in
its various ramifications as to defy the efforts of the statistician, or
else that total abstainers, as a body, are imbued with the conviction
that the disasters arising from the consumption of intoxicating drinks
are so enormous, and widespread, and universally acknowledged, that it
would be a mere waste of time to bring forward figures in proof.
Perhaps, again, the drunkard is such a very unsavoury subject, that the
upright water-drinker, pure alike in mind and body, has a repugnance to
so close a handling of him. If this last forms any part of the reason
why the question of beer-drinking _v._ water-drinking should not be laid
before us as fairly and fully as two and two can make it, the objectors
may be referred to social subjects of a much more repulsive kind,
concerning which many noble and large-hearted gentlemen courageously busy
themselves, and studiously inquire into, with a view to representing them
exactly as they are discovered. In proof of this, the reader is referred
to the sections of this book that are devoted to the consideration of
Professional Thieves, and of Fallen Women.
There can be no question that, in a matter that so nearly affects the
domestic economy of a people, statistics are not only necessary but
indispensable. No man’s word should be taken for granted, where so much
that is important is involved. The man may be mistaken; but there is no
getting away from figures. A man, in his righteous enthusiasm, may
exaggerate even, but a square old-fashioned 4 can never be exaggerated
into a 5, or a positive 1 be so twisted by plausible argument as to
falsely represent 2. Yet, somehow, those who urge even so complete a
revolution in the ancient and sociable habit of drinking as to make it
dependent on the will of Brown and Robinson whether their neighbour Jones
shall partake of a pint of beer out of the publican’s bright pewter,
afford us no figures in support of their extreme views.
Nor is this deficiency observable only in those unaccustomed persons who
mount the platform to make verbal statements, and with whom the handling
of large and complicated numbers might be found inconvenient. Practised
writers on teetotalism exhibit the same carelessness. I have before me
at the present moment a goodly number of total-abstinence volumes, but
not one furnishes the desired information. Among my books I find, first,
John Gough’s _Orations_; but that able and fervent man, although he
quotes by the score instances and examples that are enough to freeze the
blood and make the hair stand on end of the horrors that arise from
indulgence in alcoholic drinks, deals not in statistics. Dr. James
Miller writes an excellent treatise on alcohol and its power; but he
deals in generalities, and not in facts that figures authenticate. Here
is a volume containing a _Thousand Temperance Facts and Anecdotes_; but
in the whole thousand, not one of either tells us of how many customers,
on a certain evening, visited a single and well-used public-house, went
in sober, and came out palpably drunk. It would be coming to the point,
if such information—quite easy to obtain—was set before us. Lastly, I
have the _Temperance Cyclopædia_. Now, I thought, I am sure, in some
shape or another, to find here what I seek; but I searched in vain. The
volume in question is a bulky volume, and contains about seven hundred
pages, in small close type. In it you may read all about the physical
nature of intemperance, and the intellectual nature of intemperance, and
of the diseases produced by the use of alcohol, and of the progress of
intemperance amongst the ancient Greeks and Romans, together with the
history and origin of the teetotal cause in America; but as to the number
of drunkards brought before the magistrates and fined, or of the number
of crimes shown at the time of trial to have been committed through
drunkenness, the _Cyclopædia_ is dumb. This last is an oversight the
more to be deplored because we very well know that if the said numbers
were exhibited, they would make a very startling display. It may be
urged that, since we already have the testimony of magistrates, and
jail-governors, and judges, of the enormous amount of crime that is
attributable to strong drinks, it is unreasonable to ask for more; but
this objection may be fairly met by the answer, that magistrates
themselves, even when discussing the temperance question, occasionally
make unreasonable remarks; as did a metropolitan magistrate the other
day, who in open court declared, that “if publicans were compelled to
shut up their shops, there would be no further use for his.” He must
have known better. If it were as the worthy magistrate stated, it was
equivalent to saying that teetotalers never appeared at his bar; but I
think that he would hardly have ventured to that length.
In my belief, it is the tremendous steam and effervescence of language
indulged in by the advocates of total abstinence that keeps them from
making more headway. The facts they give us, like the drunkard’s grog,
are generally “hot and strong,” though with very, _very_ little of the
sugar of forbearance. I find, for instance, in the temperance records
before me, frequent allusion to the great number of drunkards who nightly
are thrown out at the doors of public-houses where they have been passing
the evening, and left to wallow in the kennel. Not only do we read of
this in books, we have it from the mouths of preachers in the pulpit, and
speakers on public platforms and in temperance lecture-halls. But I
venture to declare that whoever believes anything of the kind, believes
what is not true. Every man has a right to speak according to his
experience; and I speak from mine. I think that I may lay claim to as
extensive a knowledge of the ways of London—especially the bye and ugly
ways—as almost any man; and I can positively say that it has never once
been my lot to witness the throwing (“throwing” is the expression) of a
man from a public-house-door, followed by his helpless wallowing in the
kennel. What is more, it was by no means necessary for me to witness
such a hideous and disgusting spectacle to convince me of the evils of
intemperance, and of how necessary it was to reform the existing laws as
applying to the reckless granting of licenses in certain neighbourhoods.
It is quite enough, more than enough, to satisfy me of what a terrible
curse a bestial indulgence in gin and beer is, when I see a human
creature turned helpless from the public-house, and left to stagger home
as he best may. To my eyes, he is then no better than a pig; and if he
took to wallowing in the gutter, it would be no more than one might
expect; but he does _not_ “wallow in the gutter;” and it is not necessary
to picture him in that wretched predicament in order to bring home to the
decent mind how terrible a bane strong drink is, or to shock the man
already inclined to inebriation into at once rushing off to a teetotal
club and signing the pledge.
And now I must be permitted to remark that no man more than myself can
have a higher appreciation of the efforts of those who make it the duty
of their lives to mitigate the curse of drunkenness. What vexes me is,
the wrong-headed, and not unfrequently the weak and ineffectual, way in
which they set about it. As I view the matter, the object of the
preacher of total abstinence is not so much the reclamation of the
drunkard already steeped and sodden, as the deterring from reckless
indulgence those who are not averse to stimulative liquors, but are by no
means drunkards. Therefore they appeal as a rule to men who are in the
enjoyment of their sober senses, and in a condition to weigh with a
steady mind the arguments that are brought forward to induce them to
abandon alcoholic stimulants altogether. Now, it must be plain to these
latter—sound-headed men, who drink beer, not because they are anxious to
experience the peculiar sensations of intoxication, but because they
conscientiously believe that they are the better for drinking it—it must
be evident to these that teetotal triumphs, exhibited in the shape of
converted drunkards, are at best but shallow affairs. “Any port in a
storm,” is the wrecked mariner’s motto; and no doubt the wretched
drunkard, with his poor gin-rotted liver, and his palsied limbs, and his
failing brain, with perhaps a touch of _delirium tremens_ to spur him on,
might be glad, indeed, to escape to a teetotal harbour of refuge; and it
is not to be wondered at, if, reclaimed from the life of a beast and
restored to humanity, he rejoices, and is anxious to publish aloud the
glad story of his redemption. As a means of convincing the working man
of the wrong he commits in drinking a pint of fourpenny, the upholder of
total-abstinence principles delights to bring forth his “brand from the
burning”—the reclaimed drunkard—and get him, with a glibness that
repetition insures, to detail the particulars of his previous horrible
existence—how he drank, how he swore, how he blasphemed, how he broke up
his home, and brutally ill-treated his wife and children. All this, that
he may presently arrive at the climax, and say, “This I have been, and
_now_ look at me! I have a black coat instead of a ragged fustian
jacket; my shirt-collar is whiter and more rigid in its purity even than
your own. See what teetotalism has done for me, and adopt the course I
adopted, and sign the pledge.”
To which the indulger in moderate and honest four-penny replies, “I see
exactly what teetotalism has done for you, and you can’t be too grateful
for it; but there is no demand for it to do so much for me. If I was
afire, as you say that you once were, and blazing in the consuming flames
of drunkenness,—to use your own powerful language—no doubt I should be as
glad as you were to leap into the first water-tank that presented itself.
But I am not blazing and consuming. I am no more than comfortably warm
under the influence of the pint of beer I have just partaken of; and
though I am glad indeed to see _you_ in the tank, if you have no
objection, I will for the present keep outside of it.”
Again, from the tone adopted by certain total-abstinence professors,
people who are compelled to take such matters on hearsay—the very people,
by the way, who would be most likely, “for his good,” to join the
majority of two-thirds that is to shut up taverns—would be made to
believe that those who frequent the public-house are drunkards as a rule;
that though occasionally a few, who have not at present dipped very deep
in the hideous vice, may be discovered in the parlour and the taproom
bemusing themselves over their beer, the tavern is essentially the resort
of the man whose deliberate aim and intention is to drink until be is
tipsy, and who does do so. The moderate man—the individual who is in the
habit of adjourning to the decent tavern-parlour, which is his “club,” to
pass away an hour before supper-time with a pipe and a pint of ale and
harmless chat with his friends—is well aware of this exaggerated view of
his doings; and it is hardly calculated to soften his heart towards those
who would “reform” him, or incline him to listen with any amount of
patience to their arguments. He feels indignant, knowing the imputation
to be untrue. He is not a drunkard, and he has no sympathy with
drunkards. Nay, he would be as forward as his teetotal detractor, and
quite as earnest, in persuading the wretched reckless swiller of beer and
gin to renounce his bestial habit. It is a pity that so much
misunderstanding and misrepresentation should exist on so important a
feature of the matter in debate, when, with so little trouble, it might
be set at rest. If public-houses are an evil, it must be mainly because
the indolent and the sensual resort thither habitually for convenience of
drinking until they are drunk. Is this so? I have no hesitation in
saying that in the vast majority of cases it is not. The question might
easily be brought to the test; and why has it not been done? Let a
hundred public-houses in the metropolis be selected at random, and as
many impartial and trustworthy men be deputed to keep watch on the said
public-houses every night for a week. Let them make note particularly of
those who are not dram-drinkers, but who go to the public-house for the
purpose of passing an hour or so there; let them mark their demeanour
when they enter and again when they emerge; and I have no doubt that, by
a large majority, the working man in search simply of an hour’s evening
amusement and sociable society will be acquitted of anything approaching
sottishness, or such an inclination towards mere tipsiness even, as calls
for the intervention of the Legislature.
And now, while we are on the subject of statistics, and the peculiar
influences it is the custom of the total abstainer to bring to bear
against his erring brother the moderate drinker, I may mention what
appears to me the highly objectionable practice of enlisting the
cooperation of boys and girls—mere little children—in the interest of
their cause. In the parliamentary discussion on the Permissive
Prohibitory Liquor Bill, Colonel Jervis remarked, on the subject of the
3,337 petitions that were presented in its support: “I do not know
whether the petitions that have been presented in its favour are properly
signed; but certainly I have seen attached to one of those petitions
which come from my neighbourhood names that I do not recognise. The
signatures might, perhaps, be those of Sunday-school children; but I do
not think that petitions from children should carry a Bill of this kind.”
Were it any other business but teetotal business, one might feel disposed
to pass by as meaningless the hint conveyed in Colonel Jervis’s words.
None but those, however, who are conversant with the strange methods
total abstainers will adopt to gain their ends will be inclined to attach
some weight to them. The children are a weapon of great strength in the
hands of the teetotal. Almost as soon as they begin to lisp, they are
taught sentences condemnatory of the evils that arise from an indulgence
in strong drink; soon as they are able to write, their names appear on
the voluminous roll of total abstainers. At their feasts and picnics
they carry banners, on which is inscribed their determination to refrain
from what they have never tasted; and over their sandwiches Tommy Tucker,
in his first breeches, pledges Goody Twoshoes in a glass from the crystal
spring, and expresses his intention of dying as he has lived—a total
abstainer. I am not a bachelor, but a man long married, and with a
“troop of little children at my knee,” as numerous, perhaps, as that
which gathered about that of “John Brown,” immortalised in song. But I
must confess that I do chafe against children of a teetotal tendency one
occasionally is introduced to. I have before made allusion to a
recently-published volume entitled _A Thousand Temperance Facts and
Anecdotes_. This is the title given on the cover; the title-page,
however, more liberally reveals the nature of its contents. Thereon is
inscribed, “One Thousand Temperance Anecdotes, Facts, Jokes, Biddies,
Puns, and Smart Sayings; suitable for Speakers, Penny Readings,
Recitations, &c.” And, to be sure, it is not in the least objectionable
that the teetotaler should have his “comic reciter;” nor can there be a
question as to the possibility of being as funny, as hilarious even, over
a cup of wholesome, harmless tea as over the grog-glass. But I very much
doubt if any but total abstainers could appreciate some of the witticisms
that, according to the book in question, occasionally issue from the
mouths of babes and sucklings. Here is a sample:
“A CHILD’S ACUMEN.—‘Pa, does wine make a beast of a man?’
‘Pshaw, child, only once in a while!’
‘Is that the reason why Mr. Goggins has on his sign—Entertainment for
man and beast?’
‘Nonsense, child, what makes you ask?’
‘Because ma says that last night you went to Goggins’s _a man_, and
came back _a beast_! and that he entertained you.’
‘That’s mother’s nonsense, dear! Run out and play; papa’s head
aches!’”
I may have a preposterous aversion to a development of cuteness of a
certain sort in children, but I must confess that it would not have
pained me much had the above brilliant little anecdote concluded with a
reference to something else being made to ache besides papa’s head.
Again: “Two little boys attended a temperance meeting at Otley in
Yorkshire, and signed a pledge that they should not touch nor give strong
drink to anyone. On going home, their father ordered them to fetch some
ale, and gave them a can for the purpose. They obeyed; but after getting
the ale neither of them felt inclined to carry it; so they puzzled
themselves as to what they could do. At last they hit upon an expedient.
A long broom-handle was procured, and slinging the can on this, each took
one end of the broom-handle, and so conveyed the liquor home without
spilling it.”
One realty cannot see what moral lesson is to be deduced from these two
“funny” teetotal stories, unless it is intended to show that, from the
lofty eminence of total abstinence, a child may with impunity look down
upon and “chaff” and despise his beer-drinking parent. It would rather
seem that too early an indulgence in teetotal principles is apt to have
an effect on the childish mind quite the reverse of humanising. Here is
still another instance quoted from the “smart-saying” pages:
“Two poor little children attending a school in America, at some
distance from their home, were shunned by the others because their
father was a drunkard. The remainder at dinner-time went into the
playground and ate their dinner; but the poor twins could only look
on. If they approached near those who were eating, the latter would
say, ‘You go away; your father is a drunkard.’ But they were soon
taught to behave otherwise; and then it was gratifying to see how
delicate they were in their attention to the two little
unfortunates.”
If such contemptible twaddle enters very largely into the educational
nourishment provided for the young abstainer, we may tremble for the next
generation of our beer-imbibing species. It appears, moreover, that
those doughty juveniles, when they are well trained, will fearlessly
tackle the enemy, alcohol, even when he is found fortified within an
adult being; and very often with an amount of success that seems _almost_
incredible. However, the veracious little book of temperance anecdotes
vouches for it, and no more can be said. Here following is an affecting
instance of how, “once upon a time,” a band of small teetotal female
infants were the means of converting from the error of his ways a
full-blown drunkard:
“We used to furnish little boys and girls with pledge-books and
pencils, and thus equipped, they got us numerous signatures. A man
was leaning, much intoxicated, against a tree. Some little girls
coming from school saw him there, and at once said to each other,
‘What shall we do for him?’ Presently one said, ‘O, I’ll tell you:
let’s sing him a temperance song.’ And so they did. They collected
round him, and struck up, ‘Away, away with the bowl!’ And so on, in
beautiful tones. The poor drunkard liked it, and so would you.
‘Sing again, my little girls,’ said he. ‘We will,’ said they, ‘if
you will sign the temperance pledge.’ ‘No, no,’ said he, ‘we are not
at a temperance meeting; besides, you’ve no pledges with you.’ ‘Yes,
we have, and pencils too;’ and they held them up to him. ‘No, no, I
won’t sign now; but do sing to me!’ So they sang again, ‘The drink
that’s in the drunkard’s bowl is not the drink for me.’ ‘O, do sing
again!’ he said. But they were firm this time, and declared they
would go away if he did not sign. ‘But,’ said the poor fellow,
striving to find an excuse, ‘you’ve no table. How can I write
without a table?’ At this one quiet, modest, pretty little creature
came up timidly, with one finger on her lips, and said, ‘You can
write upon your hat, while we hold it for you.’ The man signed; and
he narrated these facts before 1,500 children, saying, ‘Thank God for
those children!—they came to me as messengers of mercy.’”
It is to be hoped this affecting, not to say romantic, episode in the
history of “conversions,” will not be so lightly read that its chief
beauties will be missed. It presents a picture full of the loveliest
“bits” that to be thoroughly enjoyed should be lingered over. First of
all, let us take the drunkard, too “far gone” for locomotion, leaning
“against a tree.” Leaning against a tree, with an idiotic leer on his
flushed and tipsy face, and maybe trying to recall to his bemuddled
memory the burden of the drinking-song that he recently heard and
participated in in the parlour of the village alehouse. “What shall we
do with him?” “O, I’ll tell you: let us sing him a temperance song.”
There you have a prime bit of the picture complete. The sot with his
back to the tree, the swaying green boughs of which have tilted his
battered hat over his left eye, and the band of little girls gathered in
a semicircle about him, and rousing him to consciousness by the first
thrilling note of “Away, away with the bowl!” The words sound as though
they would go best with a hunting-tune, a sort of “Heigh-ho, tantivy!”
and one can imagine the intoxicated one first of all mistaking it for
that roistering melody, and gently snapping his thumbs at it, he being
for the present somewhat hampered as regards his vocal abilities. One
can imagine him chuckling tipsily and snapping his thumbs—feebler and
still more feeble as he discovers his error. It is _not_ a hunting-song;
it is a temperance ditty of the first, the purest water! His heart is
touched. His now disengaged thumbs seek the corners of his eyes, and the
scalding tears steal shimmering down his red-hot nose! “Sing—sing it
again!” he gasps. But no; the artless chanters have gained a step, and
they mean to retain it. “Not till you sign the pledge,” say they.
However, he begs so hard that they concede to the extent of a verse and a
half. Still he is obdurate; but he gradually yields, till, driven into a
corner, he falters, “But you have no table.” Then comes the crowning
triumph of the picture—the incident of the hat. “You can write upon your
hat—we will hold it for you.” And the deed was done!
The same volume reveals another story of so similar a kind that it would
almost seem that the children of the first story had confided their
miraculous experience to the children of the second story.
“A CRYSTAL-PALACE INCIDENT.—The following pleasing incident was
related to me by a youthful member of the choir, at the recent
Crystal-Palace _fête_. It seems that some of the young choristers
were amusing themselves in the grounds, and saw a poor man lying on
the grass partially intoxicated. Their medals attracted his
attention, and he began to dispute the motto, “Wine is a mocker.”
This led to conversation, and the children endeavoured to induce him
to become an abstainer, and sang several melodies. One of the
conductors was also present. The man seemed much affected during the
singing, and cried, my young informant said, until he was quite
sober. He confessed that he had once been a teetotaler for three
years, during which time he had been much benefited; but had broken
his pledge through the influence of his companions. However, he was
happily prevailed upon to sign again, and to put down his name in a
pledge-book at hand, and before they separated he thanked the young
people heartily, saying, ‘I did not come here expecting to sign the
pledge. I shall now be able to go home to my wife and children and
tell them; and to-morrow I shall be able to go to my work, instead of
being at the public-house.’ What a blessing it may prove to that
wife and family should the poor man keep to his resolution! Let no
child despair of doing something towards reclaiming the drunkard, but
let all endeavour, by loving, gentle persuasion whenever opportunity
offers, to help to make the wretched drunkard blessed by living
soberly.”
I should be sorry indeed to “make fun” of any attempt earnestly and
heartily made by anyone for a fellow-creature’s good, but really there is
so much that is of questionable sincerity in such effusions as those
above quoted, that one feels by no means sure it is not intended as a
joke. Just, for instance, take that one feature of the drunkard “lying
on the grass,” and “crying himself sober,” while, led by their conductor,
the youthful members of the choir sang him all the songs they knew! Such
a scene would make the fortune of a farce with Mr. Toole to play the
tipsy man.
VI.—Betting Gamblers.